Asheville, North Carolina.
…or as some locals say “North CACKALACKY”.
I originally decided to go to the Asheville Summer Classic, because I wanted to travel to more tournaments out of my region. And it was a great decision, let me tell ya-
~Sweetest people/ new frands
~Arguably had the best beer ever, there
~And secret water fall hangs!
Getting there was an adventure, as always. The cheapest option was to book a flight from Houston to Raleigh, NC, and bum a ride from my teammate, Joselle. My bike got there as planned, thankfully, and Jo picked me up from the airport. Beyoncé’s latest album, Lemonade, was immediately on blast, before I could close my door to the car. I could sense in my fiesta bones that it was going to be a dance party getting to Asheville.
We stopped to eat lunch with sweetie pie central, population:<3 Mel <3, and I got to catch up with her, v short and sweet-ly :..) We also made a pit stop to Walmart before leaving town to buy team shirts, spray paint, and snax. ~Typical tournament essentials~
About an hour from our destination, it starts biblically raining. Guess who’s turn it was to drive during that monsoon? ME. Fookkkkkkkkkk.
Joselle soon takes over because her anxiety was getting pretty bad, and I’m relieved to not have our lives in my hands during this underwater journey.
The rain lets up and we finally arrive to our host, Allison’s place. She lives with a furry, meow-lookin’ roommate in a spacious, duplex kinda thing. We open a bottle of champagne and toast to some excuse. I later knock over my drank all over the floor, a la Michelle.
I build my bike and we’re biking to pick up in no time. I see familiar faces and high-five whoever I know. I throw myself in a couple of games, and of course, by the end of the night, manage to eat a mouthful of shit. Road rash city.
The first tournament day, we discover that we’re PM bracket, so Joselle, myself, and a few others decide to head to the secret waterfall in Asheville. Getting to the watering hole is quite difficult for me, considering the slippery, no-good, un-grippy sandals I happen to be wearing. I almost lose a toe.
It was pretty rad, feeling that breath-taking feeling, just before you jump off a cliff in to the watery unknown. I only jump twice, since it takes a lot of upper body strength to get back up, and we all know my arms are made of pizza.
Insert: first day welcome party> drinks too much > dances aggressively > room mates and host go to local grocery store after>buy frozen pizza> bake pizza/burn pizza> full>pass out.
The tournament ends up being a total blast, in every aspect. Friendly/organized club, good courts, A TIE DYE T SHIRT STATION, and nice weather.
Scott-y boy from Atlanta lets me ride back with him, since my flight to Houston was leaving from there, the following day.
to go, of course. We have to leave early, before the final games, and I don’t get all my goodbyes in. It starts torrentially pouring.. to match my emotions. The tournament blues wash over me like a surprising blow of waves. I stare out the car window, squeeze a single, woeful tear, and gradually fall in to sleep.
A flight from HOU to AVL would’ve originally cost $500-$600 bucks. I researched to see what cities were closest to Asheville and cheapest to fly from. I confirmed carpool, purchased a flight arriving to Raleigh from Houston for $80, and a returning flight to Houston from Atlanta for $60. Voila! Money got dun saveddddd. I’ll make a post later for other flight tips for those bike polo players traveling and ballin on a budget, like me 🙂